


Oblivion

by Staraxia



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, M/M, Memory Related, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 17:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15690387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staraxia/pseuds/Staraxia
Summary: What must it be like, to really erase someone from your life? Do you really think that will ease your pain?In which Hashirama forgets Madara after the Valley of the End.





	Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is a translation of a story I originally wrote in mandarin and posted on Lofter, under the same name. Inspired by https://www.bilibili.com/video/av1005451/

**[Overture]**

 

“The process has already been completed,” the Yamanaka clan head explained to Tobirama. “The seal we put on Hokage-sama has optimized both the Uzumaki clan’s expertise and our own clan’s specialty mind-jutsu. It should take effect completely on the seventh day, but you may want to keep an eye on him in the meantime. Even we can’t be completely sure what kind of side-effects this thing would have.”

“I understand,” Tobirama said. He cast a rather complex look at his brother who was seated beside him. Even though Hashirama had just had one of the most complex seals the ninja world had ever birthed slapped onto him this morning, he still looked just as he always had, with his warm smile firmly affixed to his face. Only those who had been around him as long as Tobirama had could have caught the sliver of unease that flashed through his eyes.

Tobirama bit his lip. Even though he would be the first to agree that his brother forgetting about Madara was a positive, he still had difficulty forgetting how Hashirama had looked when he first came to him with the idea—his eyes cold and empty and haunted, like the burnt-out remnants of a flame. “Anija, let’s go,” he said tentatively.

Hashirama just nodded. He stood and gave the Yamanaka clan head a bow. “Thank you for all your help,” he said politely. “Tobirama and I will be heading home for the day, so if you would please express my thanks to the Uzumaki princess as well, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Of course, Hokage-sama,” the Yamanaka clan head replied, bowing in turn. “It would be my pleasure. I will warn you though, to try to stay indoors for this time period as much as you can, both for your own safety and to avoid the additional stimulation from your surroundings. Those could cause some problems with the seal’s final effects.”

“I understand,” Hashirama said after a moment, smiling. “Thank you for your reminder.”

 

* * *

 

 

[The First Day]

 

His head hurt.

That was Hashirama’s first impression after the seal had been affixed to him, but he hid it well. Although every nerve in his mind seemed to be splitting apart at the seams, on his face he still wore the smile he wore every day, even managed a nod as he listened to the Yamanaka clan head’s warning.

As soon as they were home, he sent Tobirama away, as gently and firmly as he could manage. “I’m really fine, Tobirama,” he said. “Besides, you have to take care of the village for me in this time period. The only person I can trust to do that is you. As long as you take care of the village, you’re taking care of me as well, remember that, and you don’t really have to make time to come see me either. I mean, it’s not like I’m a child anymore,” he said, cracking a grin.

“You’re really sure?” Tobirama gave him a suspicious look, but he could not seem to glean anything other than contentment from Hashirama’s expression. “……Well, please do be careful with yourself once I leave,” he said. “No matter how busy I get, I’ll still make sure to come see you every morning, so you’d better be presentable when I get here.”

Hashirama smiled. “Of course. Now go do a good job, as you always do.”

It was only after Tobirama’s departure that he allowed himself to crumple, leaning against the wall with his hand only barely supporting himself and his shaking figure. He pressed his forehead against his palm, breathing heavily for a moment before he finally managed to drag himself into his room. His head felt like someone was cracking it apart with a hammer, and his vision swam before his eyes, but that was alright. He could bear it all. At least to the degree where his brother could not tell.

His fault, all his fault in the first place. His fault—that he wasn’t good enough, that he couldn’t make that man stay, that he now felt his absence so keenly so there was no other option but to let it all fade away. All his fault. It was only fair that he bear it.

Senju Hashirama, the man who had brought peace to an era, collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes. Thousands upon thousands of images knit together in his mind, crashing and drifting like the waves, drowning out all his senses. He let himself sink into the warm, dark depths, knowing all along that it was just his memories but too tired to care that it was so. Before losing all consciousness, a name that he had not spoken of since awakening from the Valley finally slipped out from between his lips.

“……Madara.” A sigh, light as air, carried away those three syllables that once held his most cherished dreams. It drifted up, up and up into the summer night air, losing itself in the wind.

 

* * *

 

 

[The Second Day]

 

Hashirama was woken by an incessant knocking on his door. “Anija, Anija? Hashirama? Are you in there?” Tobirama’s voice could be heard clearly even through his bedroom door.

“I’m here,” he replied hastily, dropping out of bed and running to open the door. “Sorry, I overslept,” he said more than a little sheepishly, scratching his head as he met his brother’s irate gaze.

“It’s already eleven!” Tobirama snapped, but Hashirama still caught the flash of relief in his eyes. “How are you feeling? I brought you some food—figured from the state of the kitchen that you hadn’t had breakfast yet, probably not even dinner last night if my hunch is correct.”

“Ah, yeah, about that,” Hashirama said, “I was a little too worn out last night, so I just went straight to bed. I didn’t think I would sleep until now.”

“You didn’t have any other side-effects?” Tobirama asked.

“No. My head hurt a little, but it’s much better now that I’ve slept,” Hashirama replied easily. He did not tell his brother that the moment when he just awoke, he had nearly asked in his disorientation where that person was, and why he wasn’t coming to see him. The answer to that question surfaced quickly after that, but the experience was still enough to shake him.

 _Am I really doing the right thing?_  he asked himself, but soon afterward he dismissed the thought. The marks that man had left on him were his only weakness, and he could not afford to have weaknesses anymore. He had made a promise to that person the moment he pushed a blade through his heart, that he would protect this village no matter what the cost, and that was a promise he would keep to his dying day. At the thought, Hashirama smiled bitterly.

 

_……I really have changed._

 

“Brother?” the concern in Tobirama’s voice brought him back to reality.

“I’m fine,” Hashirama reassured, “just spaced out a little. Probably because I’m still not fully away yet, don’t worry. Thank you for bringing me breakfast! I’ll eat it in just a bit.” A tidal wave of nausea seemed to knock his world upside-down, but he managed to keep the smile on his face from slipping. “Go do what you need to do,” he managed to say, “you can come back tomorrow if you’re really so worried. I won’t be going outdoors today, I think.”

“Alright,” Tobirama said. After giving him one more glance, he seemed satisfied that Hashirama was not in immediate danger of keeling over and turned around. “I’ll come back tomorrow then. Oh, by the way, cleaning up after your mess this week is probably enough for me to get a whole year’s worth of overtime pay. You better come back as soon as you’re well enough, brother.”

Hashirama watched him until his brother was already halfway out the door. At last, he allowed his eyes to slip closed and smiled wearily. “Thanks, Tobi,” he said to an empty room.

 

* * *

 

 

[The Third Day]

 

It was the dead of night. The hour between the moonset and the sunrise, the hour between dreaming and waking, the hour where spirits lurked and ghosts wandered about free and unbound.

Hashirama lies awake in bed, fresh from another mangled stream of memories that only seemed to worsen in his sleep. His fingers were gripping his bamboo-patterned blanket so hard that the images grew gnarled and distorted. In the confusion of his consciousness, he seemed to see one far-away summer’s day, when someone once walked beside him through street after street, speaking irritably of his ramblings and yet still listening to his every word.

_“Tobirama finally let me off now that the houses in the village are all completed, thank the gods! I think I probably lost ten years of my lifespan in the past month—can you imagine? Every day he’d drag me out to build houses as soon as the sun rose, and he doesn’t even provide me lunch! The injustice! I’m so glad I can finally get out on the street with you! Say, we should go to my home after this—I haven’t talked with you properly for so long, I think I’ve forgotten what it feels like.”_

_“Are you an idiot Hashirama? That wooden husk of yours is completely empty right now. How can you call it a ‘home’?”_

_“Ahaha, if you go there with me often then it’ll feel like home soon enough. Hey! Look at that blanket right there, doesn’t it look perfect?”_

_“……I don’t know what you’re talking about. That thing looks like something my grandmother would have used to line our birdhouse. Why do all Senjus have such horrible fashion sense?”_

_“Eh, really? I thought it looked good……”_

_“Hey. Hey, stop acting so depressed, okay? If you really want a blanket, you can get that set with the bamboo pattern on it, alright? At least it looks better than the set you picked.”_

Hashirama blinked slowly, the corners of his eyes prickling, burning. Just like all the other scenes he had seen in the past two days, this memory too disappeared, taking along with it the person who had felt so much like home. He clutched his blanket even tighter by instinct—a trail of warmth slipping off his face, splattering onto the jade-colored bamboo leaves clenched between his fingers.

Only he could not remember why he was crying in the first place.

 

* * *

 

 

[The Fourth Day]

 

What can a person do, really, to express love? Should he smother the one he adores with sweet and honeyed phrasings, or should he just stay guard beside him silently, and not say a word?

 _That man would probably choose the latter,_ Hashirama thought. He had never been one to be moved by any number of lacquered words—in those times, what could be said was far less trustworthy than what was actually done, and in a way Hashirama had proven this point fairly well.

 

_……That’s enough. I have seen your guts._

 

Indeed, it wasn’t all that different for Hashirama. Although he has already forgotten the sound of that person’s voice when he had spoken those words, he could still recall with clarity the grip on his hand that had stopped him from ending his life. Even when he closed his eyes now, he could still feel a ghost of a grasp on his right hand, as if a warm palm had just encased it not so long ago.

And this was it, for the last time. His current mind was like a manuscript and the seal was the editor, faithfully and meticulously tearing out each and every page of that person’s presence, leaving only a puzzling span of white. He does not know how many pages worth of memories he had lost thus far, but he does know that they have no backup, no copies. Once they were gone they were gone, with not a mark left to be traced.

As such, when that scene from the last battle before their alliance finally crossed his mind, he drank it in, savoring every detail. It was then that he thought of how much at the time he had wanted to grasp that man’s alabaster wrist, strip off his gloves, then lean down and burn his lips into the back of his hand. And even though he had managed to do just that later on, and even some things far more daring than that, a hint of regret still remained, inexplicable.

Not that he thought much of that regret afterward. For he could no longer remember how it came about.

Then there was one more day, only one of the countless ones between the beginning and the end. On that day, he had taken him to the top of the Hokage mountain and kissed him under the splendor of the stars, and then it was a merging of souls beneath his roof, strands of brown and raven’s black tangling and knitting together like they could never again be parted. Although the features of that person were fading away by the day, Hashirama could still recall the way his own body slightly dwarfed the other as he held him in his arms, his lips pressed to his ear, heart full to bursting.

He ended up saying the three words anyways. But he knows that, if that man were to take away anything from that night, it would only be the sound of his own heart beating, beating.

 

* * *

 

 

[The Fifth Day]

 

On the way to the market the next day, Hashirama ran into one Uzumaki Mito. “Hokage-sama!” she exclaimed upon seeing him, but she caught herself just as quickly and lowered her voice. “What are you doing here all by yourself? Didn’t Yamanaka-san already warn you not to leave the house?”

“Couldn’t help it,” Hashirama replied, smiling helplessly. “I ran out of fried tofu skins in my house, and I can’t make inarizushi without it.”

Mito blinked once. “Well then. You still shouldn’t be wandering about on your own though, especially to a place like the market. It’s too loud there, and there’s too many people around—I don’t know what kind of effect it would have on your seal. If you really need the tofu skins that badly, I can bring you some later at your house, alright?”

“Oh, you would?” he asked, his stomach sinking just a hint, but he was already used to hiding his emotions at that point. “That, well, that would be great! I’m so sorry I have to bother you with something so simple.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” Mito waved her hand dismissively. “So, you need tofu-skins. Is that all?”

“I think so,” Hashirama replied, “just please remember to ask the chef to add extra sugar when he’s making the skins. He seemed to like sweeter things, after all……”

Mito stiffened abruptly. “You’re……not making this for yourself?” she asked.

“No, most of my family likes salty things, actually. It’s just that when he was still around there was always some inarizushi at my house since he would come over so often, but now……it feels weird that there isn’t any there anymore. I’m not really used to it, I guess.”

The red-haired woman before him was silent for a long time. When she spoke once more, there was just a hint of a tremor in her voice. “……How much do you still remember?”

“To be honest, I really can’t tell,” Hashirama said lightly. “I can’t remember the tint of his hair, or the light in his eyes, or the exact way his lips would curve when he smiled. I can’t even remember his face anymore—if he showed up in a crowd, I don’t think I would recognize him. But I can’t forget what he meant to me, or the place he once held in my life—you tell me, how much do I still remember?”

Mito lowered her gaze, closing her eyes tightly. “……If you want,” she began, “it’s not too late now to regret it. I designed this seal myself, and I know it can be reversed as long as the seven days haven’t passed. If you want it, I can call the Yamanaka clan head now and stop all this.”

But Hashirama only smiled and shook his head. “Thank you for the offer Mito,” he said sincerely, “but it’s already too late for me to go back. On this matter, I have no right to regret anything.”

 

* * *

 

 

[The Sixth Day]

 

The water of the Nakano River still flowed as always. Hashirama watched without a word as the water’s surface streamed and ebbed when his heart felt a sudden, implacable tug. He picked up the rock nearest to him that was flat enough and sent it flying across the water with a flick of his wrist, only to see it sink upon reaching the river’s center. The water was clear as glass, so clear that he could see every bob of the rock as it sank into the depths, until it hit the jumbled riverbed and ceased its movements.

A wave of dizziness flashed before his eyes. He had seen the same scene so many years before—stones on the water, like dreams fated to sink. Upon that thought, a fire blazed to life in his chest that would not go out. He tried again and again, not pausing even when his hands were sliced open by some of the sharper rocks on the shore. Due to his near-automatic healing powers, he was gashed again and again, healed again and again, until the same place on his hand had been rent open more than twenty times. It was as if he had forgotten the meaning of pain—he only picked up the stones and threw them, again and again, unheeding of the pool of blood that was spreading upon the beach, until the sun was fading from the sky.

The last stone hit the water spinning. It turned and spun, leaving a trail of ripples along its wake before at last landing on the opposing shore with a crisp ‘clack.’

“Look, I’ve reached the other side,” he said, but there was no one around to hear him. His sleeves were already showing signs of fray from being dragged along a rocky riverside all day, but now he could not even recall what he was trying so hard to prove, or even for whom he tried in the first place. He stared unblinkingly for a moment at the river before him, the light of the day fading fast, before he finally turned his back to it all and walked back in the direction of the village.

 

That night in his dreams, two familiar-looking children seemed to meet for the first time at the riverside, and just like him they skipped their stones across the Nakano. One of the children had a brilliant smile, and the other, whose outline was blurred and faded, still left him with an impression of warmth that was all too fleeting for his tastes. He stood there, watching them play and laugh with one another, until their images receded with the ripples of the stones they skipped, fading away at last in the depths of his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

[The Seventh Day]

 

That morning, he woke up as usual, only to be unsure of why his heart suddenly felt so light. It was not a comforting sensation of lightness, but rather light as if some vital part that made it function had been removed, without notice, without care. He rolled out of bed slowly and walked out his bedroom door, only to find that someone was already waiting for him in his living room. “Eh, Tobirama?” he said, a little puzzled. “No offense, but what are you doing here? I thought you were going out of your mind with work the past couple days.”

Tobirama shook his head. “It’s going to get better from today,” he said, squinting slightly as he eyes at him. “So……how are you feeling today?”

“I feel alright, I suppose,” Hashirama replied. He walked over to the windows and opened them, gazing at the radiant summer flowers. The roses beside the window frame were especially flourishing—red and rich as fire, the color sparking in him some far-off, vague impression that left his breath frozen and his heart speeding away, as if it were not blossoms before him but rather someone’s eyes, with beautiful, blazing irises.

“……Hey, Tobirama.”

“What is it?”

“This might sound kind of strange to you,” he began, smiling a little shakily, “but have you ever woken up before and felt that the world was missing something?”

Tobirama gave him a slightly wide-eyed look, but he still eventually replied. “……Well, I suppose I have, but that was many, many years ago. “

“And what happened after that?” Hashirama asked, with a tinge of desperation that even he himself did not detect.

“Nothing happened,” Tobirama replied wearily. “I still had to live my life after that, and I’m still here aren’t I? That feeling isn’t going to leave any time soon, brother. You may as well get used to it.”

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. He tried to give Tobirama a smile as usual, but his lips simply refused to curve into the right shape, and in the end he gave it up as a bad job. “Is that so,” he said instead, turning his head back around. He regarded the roses outside the window, drinking in the color for just a little longer before at last removing his gaze, with a hint of sorrow he could not place.

“……Is that so,” he repeated softly. “Well then. I suppose I may have just imagined it.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

**[Finale]**

 

He lived fifteen more years after those seven days.

Of those years he does not remember much that was significant, only let them pass, flavorless, like water. He still loved the village and the people within it, only that he sometimes still awoke at the dead of night with some nameless sadness on his lips. A few years after that feeling started, he married Mito as per the orders of his clan, but he always felt some strange sense of guilt towards her bubbling just beneath the surface, or……perhaps not only towards her.

It was gone, it was gone. Something really was gone from his life, perhaps forever. He tried to adapt to it as Tobirama had suggested, but he does not think he was very successful about it. For some unknown reason, every time he went out on the street he would find himself wandering towards the other end of the village, but there was nothing there except for the Uchiha compound, and he didn’t know any Uchihas well enough to just show up unannounced like that. And another time, when a young girl fell down on the street he had run over to her immediately to help her up, but _that’s wrong that’s wrong_ there should have been someone beside him who got there first, while he watched their interactions and smiled.

But who could it be? He stayed up for hours night after night, staring at the ceiling and wondering, always wondering, but the question always ended in a Gordian’s knot, tangled, hopeless, unsolvable.

 

“Hashirama, Hashirama……”

Mito’s voice drifted in faintly from above his head. He opened his eyes with an effort, and in that soft, cracked-and-shattered voice unique to the mortally ill asked, “Tobirama……is he gone?”

“Yes, he’s left already,” Mito answered.

Hashirama sighed gently. His mind seemed to be broiling in a slow-cooker, everything jumbling, mixing, melting to nothingness. Mito’s face hovered in and out of his vision, and he knew that he must be hallucinating, as just for an instant he saw her bound-up red hair transform into waist-length loose black strands, wild and beautiful. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “all these years being married to me, all quite difficult weren’t they? Now that I’m leaving, at least you can be free after I’m gone.”

“No, this was also my fault,” Mito said. “Hashirama, I know you’ve been unhappy for a very long time. If I’d known from the start that this would be the way it ended, I don’t think I would have agreed to do it in the first place.”

“Do what?” Hashirama rasped out, furrowing his brow. His voice was next to nothing, but Mito heard him anyways.

“……Your memories,” she said after a moment. “Fifteen years ago, you asked me and the last Yamanaka clan head to seal away your memories of a specific subject, until today. I’ve been researching the countering method since Tsunade’s father was born, and I’m just thankful that I’ve made it in time to do this. I’m so sorry, Hashirama. What I took from your mind then, at least now I can return it all to you, before you go.”

Before Hashirama could respond, he felt a pair of hands gently touch the crown of his head, and then a warm, gentle current, the sensation not unlike that of the first snow melting in the spring. Scene after scene streamed past his eyes, but at their core, they all contained the presence of that one particular person. Snow-pale skin and raven-feathered hair, the curve of his lips at times sharp, others soft and beaming. His eyes were like inkwells if the moon fell in them, and yet they were also red, red and rich like roses, like fire. They would regard him with the occasional fury or resignation, but the tenderness tucked in their depths never ceased to take his breath away.

So there really was once someone like this who had existed alongside him, who had taken up over half the space in his life, and his heart must have remembered to some extent even as his mind forgot.

For the first time in fifteen years, Hashirama smiled contently and closed his eyes. Now that he was leaving at last, some things he no longer needed to remember with his mind—not when they were already engraved in his soul.

After all, on the other side, someone was still waiting for him.


End file.
